The Enigma of a Query
by G.G. Halcyon
Summary: [WIP / HAITUS] NYGMA(RIDDLER)/OC. Nygma meets Kringle's temporary replacement, Diedre Vance and is surprised by her penchant to answer his riddles. Is there more to her than meets the eyes? / When her past catches up to her, will Nygma accept her for who she is, or discard her like a riddle already solved?


**Title:** The Enigma of a Query

 **Author:** G.G. Halcyon

 **Fandom:** Gotham

 **Pairing:** Edward Nygma/Diedre Vance

 **Rating:** T

 **Warning:** N/A

 **Publish:** 2015 May 25

 **Note:** Diedre Vance is an actual DC Comics character and one of The Riddler's female sidekicks who goes by the name 'Query'.

* * *

 _The person who makes it, sells it. The person who buys it never uses it and the person who uses it doesn't know they are. What is it?_

Chapter 1 : A Coffin

Their eyes met.

It was a brief moment, a hiccup in a continuous and purposed gaze that was supposed to be directed elsewhere—anywhere- but him. He didn't blame her for being uneasy; he was use to others trying to ignore his presence. It often was not their fault, or choice to avoid looking at his direction.

He knew that he was not what others considered 'normal'. Edward Nygma often brushed this fact aside as mere misunderstanding. Others' simply lacked the enthusiasm for his brilliant mind, knack for solving the macabre surrounding dead bodies and his penchant for riddles for amusement. (He never did understand why people didn't warm up to his riddles; they were meant to add levity in such a serious place as GCPD. And of course, that very fact he brushed off as well).

She smiled. Plump ruby red lips.

He shifted in his stance, wishing he had something in his hands to fidget with-a folder, a pencil, a pin-but simply found himself with his fist closed and his palms sweaty.

His eyes blatantly took in the sight of her from head to toe. This woman was certainly no Ms. Kris Kringle. She stood tall, similar to his height in her heals, buxom with a sunkissed glow to her smooth looking skin., and long wavy blonde hair framing her face and cascading pass her shoulders. She wore a long-sleeve, faux-wrap blue dress that hugged every curve of her body and fluttered down slightly pass her knees, and she wore dark tan patent leather heals which boosted her petite stature.

Not Ms. Kringle at all.

She didn't seem taken aback by his ministration, but instead seemed to find it all too amusing. A dark brow raised at him in question, and her smile widened, which brought him back to reality. ' _Edward, you are not following social convention.'-_ a voice in his head told him. He knew full well that he was not hiding the fact that he was taking in her vision, studying and deducing, and raking his eyes all through her. Oddly, he noticed she seemed not to mind, or maybe she was so light minded that she saw nothing to it. ' _Odd,'_ he thought with a paused. _'Introduce yourself, Nygma-_ -his voice of convention once again brought him back to the reality of things.

He cleared his throat. _'Introduce yourself.'_

"Uhm, uh…" He fidgeted, his hands raised to his glasses to fix them—his nervous tick at times. He swallowed loudly, and opened his mouth to try to sound coherent this time, but she stops him long before he succeeded in playing a fool.

"Hello to you too," she said, as she approached him in four solid strides—confident and graceful to match the staccato of her heels against the wooden floor. She didn't hesitate as her eyes took in the sight of him with a bright smile, and an extended hand.

He awkwardly took her hand in his, holding her small hands in his large ones far too long before shaking it firmly and letting go. Her hands were smooth- _She has blood red nail polish—_ he noted. His hands, he was certain, were sweaty, yet she didn't seem to mind. "Uhm.—Hello, I'm—"

"Nygma, Edward Nygma." She finished for him. "I'm Diedre Vance. It's so nice to finally meet you!"

Nygma's eyes widened in surprise, feeling an anxiety overcome him as he found himself overwhelmed by questions in his mind. His hands were fidgeting beside him and he hurriedly placed them in his pockets.

"How is it that you know my name?" Nygma's browse furrowed in thought, "And where is Ms. Kringle?"

"I was told that you would frequent this office, especially around this time. So I simply assumed, and it looks like I was right," she told him, "As for Ms. Kringle, she must be the one who worked here. I wasn't told much, except that I'll be running the archives for a little while."

Nygma was taken aback. Why hadn't Ms. Kringle not notified him that she was to take a leave of absence? She seemed all right after all the times he'd seen her—although she was often alone when he visited, especially since Officer Daugherty and his pals were locked up in prison with the help of Officer Gordon.

"How long will you be working here?"

"Oh, a few months."

She turned to the left to grab a few files. He watched her graceful movements and her long fingers as they fanned through paper work.

Diedre looked up and caught him staring. She smiled again, "You know, Edward, I'm not sure how anyone can find anything in here."

"'Nygma'." He corrected her.

"'Nygma'" She repeated. For a moment it seemed as if she was waiting for him to say more, or perhaps watch him prepare to leave. He did neither, and she simply turned her attention back to the files.

He heard her say a few words under her breath, something about alphabetical order or misfiling that she'd fix.

"Ms. Kringle had her system," he caught himself saying; remembering the irritation in Kris's eyes when he tried to rearrange her files. A part of him was happy that he found someone who seemed just as irked at the disorganization of the archives. Diedre certainly had her worked cut out for her.

She looked up at him questioningly, "Is there some files you wanted me to pull for you?"

Was this her way of being kind enough to let him know that he had overstayed his welcome? He hadn't realized that he had simply been standing their observing her intently. Nygma realized that it was probably time for him to leave. He was used to it.

"No," he said, "No...perhaps later."

Diedre dropped a stack of files atop a nearby desk, turned to him, "Please, don't try to be nice and tell me you didn't come here to the archives for nothing. I know it's my second day, and this place may seem out of place, but rest assured I'll find your files as quickly as I can."

Her eyes were a forest green and hazel, eager, and helpful. It made him uncomfortable how easily she looked at him with no judgment. He looked at her as if he was...normal. It made him feel out of his element.

Nygma shook his head.

"I forgot my requisition form," he lied to her. He did in fact had the mandatory form filled to request archived files completed; the form was folded neatly and tucked on his left shirt pocket. Nygma simply wanted to leave, fretting the unfamiliar territory he found himself in and the feeling of anxiety his curiosity in this woman caused him. He needed to leave, to settle down, and prepare how he'd approach her in a more proper way.

Nygma watch as Diedre's eyes drifted to his chest, a finely trimmed eyebrow raised. Could she tell he was lying? She didn't seem to appear so, as her eyes met his. He wondered if she would ignore the yellow folds of the Archive Requisition Paper peeking out of his pocket, a stark contrast to his bright white shirt.

"Hmm..." She seemed in thought. He found himself motionless as she drew closer and soon stood directly in front of him.

Nygma looked down at her—she was still a foot shorter than him even in her high heels- and the delicious warm _fragrance_ of _her perfume enveloped him. He watched almost with bathed breath as her fingers reached for the paper in his pocket, the warm and gentle brush of her hands on her chest sending his heart pounding. As she slowly pulled the paper out, Nygma found her simple motion and nearness cause a shiver to course through him. His skin felt warm as it shifted under her simple touch. Diedre's fingers were a hypnotizing sight, and he wondered how soft they would be against his bare skin. He wondered what sensation he'd feel if she were to run her long fingernails across his back._ _'Stop it!'_ _—he tells himself. He couldn't imagine that this woman was aware of what she was doing to him._

 _"It looks like I found it," she told him. He heard a playfulness in those words, and met the brightness in her eyes as he gaze down to meet them._

 _Diedre took a step back and observed him under unreadable eyes. Her ruby red lips are turned up in a small mischievous smile._

 _"Ah, yes," Nygma found himself saying, his raised his hands to fix his glasses. "It seems I had forgotten, they were right there all along."_

He cleared his throat, uncertain what had just transpired and why he found himself feeling a certain uncertainty, and almost a giddiness about him.

"I'll make sure to work on this for you, Nygma." Her voice was hushed, a sultriness in the sound. ' _You are only hearing things'-_ his inner voice said, chastising him, _'She's only being nice.'_

"Thank you, Ms. Vance." He doesn't catch her response as he turned to leave abruptly, his hands on the door which he opened. He could feel Diedre's eyes on his back watching him. _'Am I leaving rudely? Should I say something more?'_

He then stopped and turned. This time she was crouched down over the lower file drawer, the yellow form in one hand as she shifted through the files with a focus etched on her brow.

 _'You see, Nygma? It was nothing at all.'_

"Um, Ms. Vance..."

"Yes?" She looked up, those eyes welcoming, smiling right at him once more; waiting.

"While I'm sure you won't be here long..." he began, "I look forward to working with you."

"I don't doubt we'll be seeing much of each other." Diedre point at his long list of requested archived files. "I'll have these ready within the hour."

"There's no rush; I'm sure they're scattered about here." He gestured at the file cabinets—he was certain that Diedre wasn't fully prepared for the interesting and maddening organizations of Ms. Kringle. He didn't doubt that she'd discover soon enough how the files were not filed uniformly, and he didn't want any stress befall Diedre especially on her first days.

"I'm sure they won't be difficult to find. Did you want me to drop them off at your office?"

"No." His response seemed rushed, and too abrupt that it takes her aback. "No, it's not necessary," he told her softly this time, with a slight smile, "I'll come up here and pick it up."

He didn't want her to see his 'office'-he wasn't certain what she'd think of him kindly if she saw what he surrounded himself with on a daily basis for many hours. At the moment he did have a _table_ with a gaping _cadaver_ _,_ horribly _mutilated_ , and severely burnt in his 'office'. ' _Ah yes, she wouldn't take kindly to that at all.'_

Diedre's expression changed to one that he couldn't read. Nygma wasn't sure why this bothered him. ' _Does she now see me for the odd man that everyone claimed me to be? Does she now realize who it is she is dealing with?'_

"I'll...give you a call when they're ready then." Her smile no longer touched her eyes like before.

Nygma needed to leave.

"That'd be great, Ms. Vance."

And with that he left, long before he could hear her parting greeting. His heart pounded in his chest as he rushed down the stairs and headed to the forensic lab.

This woman, she was beautiful, and he was surprised by how she looked at him. He wondered why it was he felt the way he felt, especially having pined for Ms. Kringle for so many months. And here was this woman who simply appeared and yet he felt caught off guards.

 _'Why is that?'_ He thought. Diedre had looked at him as if he was 'normal'-or at least before he ruined it- spoke to him with an ease that was not tainted by the distance and speculation that others often spoke to him with. Did she not know about him, yet? He wondered if the person who informed her about him also spoke about his peculiarities—he wouldn't be surprise by it; he was more surprise by how she acted as if she didn't at first.

"Diedre Vance," Nygma spoke her name out loud as he continued on to his office. He wanted to know who she was. He wanted to know everything about her. She was not at all someone one would expect to work in the archives; she was certainly no Ms. Kringle.

He opened the door to his lab, the cadaver beneath white linen greeted him as a welcoming sight.

Humming gladly—and unknowingly- he tore off the linen from the cadaver for his investigation. He grabbed his medical gloves, prepared to put them on, and then stopped in his motion. Nygma's eyes searched the room until it landed on a nearby telephone, seated on a steel table not too far from his examination desk.

"'I'll give you a call,' she says."

He grabbed the phone and placed it on the table, right below the feet of the mutilated cadaver.

He looked forward for her call.

TBC.


End file.
